Sins of Empire (Gods of Blood and Powder, #1)

by Brian McClellan

He forced a grin on his face and displayed it to the empty bar. “You don’t have to be in a bad mood,” he said. “Cheer up. It could be worse. You could be outside.” “Good point,” he replied to himself, taking on a serious air. “Besides, we’ve got beer on tap in here, and the owner won’t be around until noon.” “You,” he said in his happy voice, draining the rest of his beer and heading behind the bar to refill his glass, “are going to get very drunk.” “Yes. Yes I am.” He often wondered what people thought when they overheard him speaking to himself. Probably that he was a mad fool. But circumstance had often found him alone as a young man, and speaking aloud helped him gather his thoughts and stave off boredom on the long, hot Fatrastan nights. Besides, in his line of work it was best to keep people at arm’s length. He was on his third beer when the door finally opened and a young man appeared. He peeked inside hesitantly, his legs braced as if to run, and then glanced over his shoulder before calling out, “Hello?”